


Fall of Narcisse part 2

by Braxdovah



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade, White Wolf
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23777980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braxdovah/pseuds/Braxdovah
Summary: Not mine but important context for Always Murder your Darling





	Fall of Narcisse part 2

Umryk  
The plan was simple; get in, grab the target, and get out. Though Umryk-- a name he wasn’t fond of, simply because he knew it wasn’t his-- couldn’t be sure, he had the feeling that he’d done this a hundred thousand times before. 

He felt no remorse for her, no pity; only the cold acknowledgement that she was going to die. She had betrayed the Host, betrayed the Sword. She had betrayed the Blood. No better than a mewling mortal, intent on pleasures of the flesh and mind.

Weak.

She was going to die, but first he was going to drag her before the Sword.

He glanced back at Deuces Wild, who was busy building and rebuilding her weapons. It wasn’t so much a nervous habit as one that had honed her well even over the years of her unlife. For himself, there was a calm stillness inside himself that belied even those simple movements; even as the world passed on in a storm of action, he was still.

Considering the Storm, he glanced back at Za’aphiel. As usual, the Storm was praying quiet ministrations to the Dark Father. Though his mind was focused on the path before him, he let the back of his thoughts consider the prayer, and offer it to the Blood Who Beget Them All.

“May you feel Caine’s blood on the path ahead  
When the road you walk is hollow.  
May you always hear,  
Even in your hour of sorrow,  
The gentle singing of the owl.  
When times are hard may strength  
Never turn your blood to ash,  
May you always remember  
when the shadows fall—  
You do not walk alone.  
Praise Caine.”

All three of them whispered the last words together. This was going to be easy. Praise Caine indeed. 

Za’aphiel  
He knew something was wrong the moment he walked into the nightclub. Obnoxiously flashy and stinking of the overtones of mortal wealth, the club was the kind of person where someone could revel in their own success until they forget what hour it was. And there she was, on stage. 

They took their positions-- blending into the crowd as best they could, and waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Still, something bothered him about the way the mortals were spread out. It tickled in the back of his mind like a half-remembered moment of something… something else, that he couldn’t quite recall.

Then it was time to strike. The plan had always been to focus on attacks that could be mortal, to make it easier to cover up. Narcisse, it would appear had other plans. Storm felt the rush of power from Umryk-- some form of Psychic attack he knew, though not much more than that-- and saw Narcisse stagger. But Narcisse, it would seem, had no intention of preserving the Silence of the Blood. Minutes to midnight on her life, and she was still intent on violating every rule and sacrament for her own comfort and safety.

Storm sighed, and reached out the that place of quiet thunder-- felt the rumble in his mind and prepared to silence the area when, all of a sudden, his mind froze.

When- When did she become so beautiful? He thought to himself. When did she-

He tried to snap himself out of it, tried to ignore the admiration and respect that welled up inside of him, but he knew he couldn’t. She was just… too… damn.. Beautiful. He looked to the side and saw Deuces hesitate as well. 

He cursed the powers of the Blood. Even as he knew what he was looking at, he also knew he wouldn’t be able to lift a finger to bring harm to her. Even the thought of silencing her beautiful voice was too much to bare. Disgusted with himself, and with her, he turned away. 

And everything promptly turned to hell.

Deuces Wild  
Deuces turned to the first scream, watched as the mortals began to flee. The attack hadn’t come from the stage-- stupid pretty bitch was still singing on the stage-- but from one of the people in the club. And it hadn’t been targeting anyone of them-- or else the mortal was the shittiest shot she’d ever seen in her life.

She turned to get a better view, and discovered that of the dozen mortals in the location, roughly half of them had pulled pistols and opened fire on the crowd. It didn’t take a fucking genius to see that each of the pistols was well-made. She was pretty sure they were Jude’s. 

Mind-game playing little bitch.

She wasn’t sure wether to be impressed or pissed, so settled for the latter.

Narcisse  
It was all so fucking beautiful. Sure, she hadn’t known what she was going to do when that half-wit Quinzel had decided to drink the Sabbat’s kool-aid, but the offer from the Independent Alliance had just been too sweet. In return for their backup, she’d given them everything she knew about who was in charge of the Sabbat. 

He’d especially liked the young chinese man’s plan to sow discord amongst the mortals. Have them firing on each other if someone came for her before they could get back, and it would buy her time to escape.

And buy time, it did. She reveled in the feeling of control as she watched two of the bastards sent to kill her turn into piles of adoring goo-- the creepy guy with the hood, and that red-headed Gangrel who was new to town.

Ah, she could get used to this.

Father David Stonebriar  
He didn’t much like nightclubs; not because he was particularly prudish, but because there was always too much noise and movement. He much preferred to be home, reading, or out doing the Lord’s work. There, he felt useful; there, he knew his place. Clubs and music and dining-- those were places he didn’t know what to do with himself.

But Caleb had insisted. Demanded that they go out and celebrate his 42nd birthday with a nice meal and some entertainment, and since David had always had a soft-spot for jazz, going out to the club to hear the one and only Narcisse perform for her last show in Austin had seemed like a good compromise.

Now he sat, Caleb in his lap, his black frock coated with blood from his young nephew. Caleb was going to die, he knew. He was going to die, himself. When the men had started to attack the pretty young singer onstage, he’d thought that this was some random act of violence, unspeakable and tragic. Now, as he watched these creatures-- creatures that wore the faces of men, but wielded unimaginable strength-- he knew better. He knew that no man was responsible for what was going on here. So he did the only thing he knew how to do: he prayed.

Umryk  
The target had decided to use the powers of speed-- that was a mistake. It means that everyone and everything in this room that wasn’t absolutely loyal to the Sabbat was going to die. He had no qualms with that decision, but also acknowledged that meant he’d have to call in Raziel to clean up the mess.

He looked at her, as she continued to sing-- preparing to attack them with that voice no doubt-- and felt her majesty radiate across the entire club. It evoked in him something primal; he wanted to make sure she never got hurt, to run to her side and-

No. No, he didn’t, he realized. Once he identified the feeling as powers of the blood being used on him, he shrugged off the effects instantly. Then he silenced her. Reached out, and plucked the sound from the room.

Assess the situation. Find the target. Eliminate it.

There was a simpleness to the pattern that he enjoyed-- even relished.

He watched as both Storm and Deuces began to incapacitate the mortals; why they didn’t choose to simply kill them, he didn’t know or care. It looked like only he had been able to shrug off the effects of her Presence.

That suited him just fine.

Za’aphiel  
There was no thought, only an intense need to settle this quietly and quickly; the shots fired would be attracting police soon enough-- Narcisse had made sure of that when she chose to hide in plain sight of a crowded nightclub. 

Storm moved with all the fury of his namesake, working to incapacitate the mortals as best he could without bringing them to their deaths. Even they, the weak and mortal, had their use in service to the will of the Dark Father. And they were so easy to take down; the merest press of his god-like strength to a pressure point, and they passed out from the pain.

The pain was good for them; if they survived this, he thought, he would make sure they remembered it. He stopped before a man wearing a priest’s garb. He was praying-- the Lord’s prayer. 

Storm looked at him with cold eyes, lashed out with immense strength, and brought the man to blessed darkness. “Dark Father, son of God, The Lord has left you. Cursed are you among men and Cursed are your childer. Caine, Dark Father, Lead us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen”

Deuces Wild  
That was the last of them, she thought, as she backhanded a young woman into unconsciousness. Turning to Storm, he saw the hooded man leaning over someone and whispering a prayer. It made her smile-- even in the heat of battle, the numbskull had time for the words of the Dark Father.

Not that this was much of a battle. A dozen mortals, shooting each other, and Narcisse sitting on the stage throwing a hissy fit while Umryk shot the hell out of her. 

Still, she realized, this was going to be a hell of a cleanup. Their chances of getting out of here quickly were shot, and if Umryk didn’t take her down quickly, then quietly was out the window, too.

Looking outside the windows, she saw the light of sirens in the distance; they seemed to be keeping a perimeter. Eyes narrowing, she focused until the dark gave way to clear sight. The police were standing outside the building, but not coming any closer.

Raziel. She thought. Must be.

Narcisse  
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. That bastard-- what the fuck did he call himself? Umryk?-- had somehow broken free of her Majesty and was shooting at her.

She’d felt the fire of the first bullet as it entered her chest. Felt the inhuman snarl well up in her throat, as she lunged for the obsidian-skinned piece of shit. It would pay for hurting her.

It would pay.

Shen Li Weng  
Over the black and white feed of the nightclub’s security cameras, a pale figure watched the violence and carnage from relative safety. It wouldn’t do for the Masquerade to breach-- not for this particular experiment, anyway-- and they had what they needed.

It was, he thought to himself, time to go.

Quietly and quickly, his fingers brushed over the keyboard; with patience and skill, he eliminated all traces of tonight’s events from the video feed, then erased his ever having logged in from the computer system’s records.

Phase Three complete.

Narcisse  
Where were they?! 

She thought frantically to herself. The Independent Alliance had promised they would save her-- they needed her! They needed to know what she knew if they were going to have any chance to fight the Sabbat.

Firing her pistol-- a version of the same lovely pistols she’d given to each of the mortals-- at the marble-skinned menace, she snarled in frustration as the only bullet that hit seemed to bounce off of Umryk’s skin entirely.

She began firing into the crowd indiscriminately; she may not be able to survive this, but the so-called Sword of Caine would have a hell of a time trying to explain this. She continued to move with all of the speed her blood had become attuned to, making sure that every camera in the entire club found her. 

Make sure you get my good side, boys. And where the fuck are you?!

Umryk  
The hair-trigger on the pistol allowed him to fire at the target with the full capacity of his speed. Four shots in the span of three seconds, all solid hits. He watched with some satisfaction as the bullet tore through Narcisse’s skin. Still, entertaining as it was, it was time to bring the Narcisse home to answer for her crimes.

He reached out with his thoughts; his mind, aged and cold with time, found what he was looking for quite easily. The psychic vacuum of this place was a darkness, illuminated by the faint flicker of a small number of candles. The mortals were each matches in that darkness, lights whose fire burned brief and full of potential, but ultimately ignorable.

He found the flame he was looking for and felt the recognizable odor of fear radiating from it. He acknowledged the psychic scent of his target, taking a brief moment to memorize it’s form: the shape, color, and intensity of her mind. 

Then, having taken the time to burn that fire into his mind, as he did with all the flames he had extinguished, he reached out with his mind and snuffed the fire into darkness.

Channel 52 News  
“The local nightclub VOX was attacked today by what authorities are stating was yet another tragic example of gun violence gone horribly wrong; the shooter, 24-year old Caleb Dustman, was shot and killed on scene by the police.

Locals state that artist and vocal celebrity Narcisse was performing at the time, but no word yet on if she was injured in the attack. Her manager was unwilling to comment except to state that the remainder of her tour through the US was to be delayed indefinitely. Narcisse’s new album, All For You, is still on track to release tomorrow on iTunes.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glUJMqFSO7k


End file.
